


confess! the end is nigh

by mariya



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Foreign exchange student Minghao, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariya/pseuds/mariya
Summary: Senior year is all about goodbyes, so maybe it's time to be honest.





	confess! the end is nigh

**Author's Note:**

> for 400 lux. when i hear it, i think of teenage love. 
> 
> thank you to the wonderful lordeventeen mods for arranging this!

Soonyoung straight out of winter is brace free. Still doesn’t have any muscle definition he set out to gain at the beginning of break when every morning and night he pumped as much iron as there was in his mouth. His tank top just accentuates what isn’t there. Bicep-less, intercostal muscle-less, the fucking _dream._

His crappy green Acura is stalling by the curb when Minghao walks out of the airport, the sharp sun slanting into his eyes. They make eye contact right outside the doors. Soonyoung grins and pops the trunk. Minghao throws his colossal suitcase in the back, shutting the trunk with his elbow, and slides through the open passenger door, pulling Soonyoung into a hug so tight it makes up for a month-long absence.

The car behind them honks angrily.

“Welcome back,” Soonyoung says right into his ear, hand placed at the center of Minghao’s back.

Senior year is all about goodbyes. The moment Soonyoung pats Minghao’s back, he’s hitting the big red _start_ button on the clock, and the countdown begins.

 

 

 

 

 

For Soonyoung, senior year means big fucking plans.

Before signing his life away to student loans, he wants to go on a big trip someplace that isn’t San Francisco or Los Angeles. He wants to live this last semester as freely as possible, and that means making sure his car is ready to go at all times, oil and tires freshly changed for the new semester. He wants to but probably won’t ask out the super fly chick who works at the only boba joint in town. Could you believe it? A population pushing twenty thousand and they all had to crowd into a single Lollicup.

What does Minghao want? 

Officially, he’s hoping to get through the rest of the year with his 4.0 GPA unscathed. He wants his acceptance letters in spades, has a family connection locked down in Beijing promising him a place to stay if and when he gets into his top school. He spent four years in the States and has no plans on a fifth.

“Officially?” Soonyoung says, amused as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. They pass beneath a tunnel and the daylight cuts away. “What about unofficially?”

“You don’t have the clearance level to know." 

“ _Best friend_ isn’t a high enough clearance level?”

The artificial tunnel lights flash across Soonyoung’s face as he hits the gas and propels them toward the light at the end of the tunnel. The acceleration butterflies across Minghao’s stomach. Everything’s moving too fast. If only he had a little more time.

“No,” Minghao says. “Higher. Way higher.”

The world explodes in pure light and energy, and Soonyoung is pushing his sunglasses down and back into place. Says with the biggest grin on his face, “Should’ve left your ass at the airport.”

Minghao grins right back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

“I still can’t believe you got grounded,” Soonyoung says, the sound of rustling coming clear over the phone. “What’d you do?”

A week before he left China, Minghao got caught smoking and his parents unleashed hell, did not cheap out on dramatics. Didn’t matter that everybody in China smokes. They were like: America’s got you thinking about gay shit but not lung health? His parents didn’t even know what being grounded was until they started corresponding on the regular with his host family through WeChat, and then they found out Americans were punishing their kids with cabin fever and the next thing Minghao knew, _his_ ass was on house arrest.

Minghao taps his pencil against his temple, the chemistry worksheet swimming before his eyes. “They’re just worried about me because we don’t see each other for the majority of the year.”

The sound of a door opens and closes, keys jingling in the background. Soonyoung’s car beeps in the distance. “But you’re, like, the ideal son. You were just curious, should you really be punished for that?”

“Maybe you should call my parents,” Minghao says, turning off speaker mode and holding the phone close to his ear. “Plead my case.”

Soonyoung laughs. His Acura purrs and the sharp zip of the seatbelt cuts through the thrum, clicking into place. “No way. If it were me, I would’ve grounded your ass to the moon and back.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you got off easy, Xu Minghao.”

Minghao smiles, unbelievably charmed. “Where are you going, Kwon Soonyoung?”

“In-N-Out. Wanna keep me company?" 

Usually, given the circumstances, Minghao would say no. It’s one in the morning. They have to be up for school in six hours and he still hasn’t read the assigned chapter for _1984_ , and he knows Soonyoung hasn’t either.

“Sure.”

Soonyoung signals, and Minghao puts down his pencil. In the In-N-Out drive-thru, Soonyoung starts foaming at the mouth about the top three character reveals of all time. Minghao’s only vaguely listening, he’s more focused on skimming _1984_ on SparkNotes.

“Hellboy, hands down, is the sexiest character reveal of all time.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, because of course Soonyoung thinks that. “Whoever did makeup didn’t make his shoulders proportional to the rest of him.”

“Who cares? We’re not looking at his shoulders, we’re looking at his killer pecs and eight-pack. The camera pans up to a dark corner, classic rock playing, and Hellboy’s lifting 150-pounds in one hand, puffing on a cigar. Except!” Soonyoung’s voice pitches high, excited. “Except most of his face and body is hidden in the shadow, so you can’t see his expression, but you see the silhouette of his head tilted arrogantly. _Sex-_ y.”

“How come you’re not this excited about _1984?_ ”

“That’s different,” Soonyoung says absently, definitely still thinking about the lighting on Hellboy’s abs. “ _1984_ isn’t sexy.”

“Wait, what?” Minghao laughs as Soonyoung raises his voice to talk over him, trying to defend his honor.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, okay? Hellboy’s abs comfort me in this dark scary world.”

“I can’t believe you said that out loud. You know how bad that sounds, right?”

Soonyoung says away from the phone, “Oh—thank you, have a nice day,” and then comes back to the speaker. “And who can forget about Blade.”

“How can I forget,” Minghao deadpans, “the club with fire sprinklers full of blood.”

Soonyoung hits the turn signal. “Wasn’t that crazy? Dude gets lured into a vampire club beneath a warehouse and suddenly blood starts raining from the ceiling. The way they shot it was great. I liked how the light reflected off the blood and made you feel anxious for him.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll agree with you on Blade.”

“Really? You don’t like my taste in movies,” Soonyoung says. Minghao can practically hear the stars in his eyes. “You explain it. You explain things better than I do.”

 _That’s not true,_ Minghao thinks. _I like hearing you talk,_ but somehow that’s harder to get out than a scene analysis of Blade.

“Character reveals are all about foreplay. The buildup to Blade’s introduction was more visceral. Blood pours from the fire sprinklers and the club lights keep oscillating, everything’s disorienting. The vampires beat this guy up and you’re rooting for him because he looks dumb but kind in the ways that count, and suddenly, Blade’s boots comes into frame, and the whole scene stills. The music cuts. You know immediately he’s the savior.”

Outside, in the darkness, Minghao can make out the dark shape of Soonyoung’s car slowly pulling up to the curb, headlights cut. The driver’s door swings open. A pair of black sneakers plant on the ground.

Minghao continues speaking, a little slower now. “The camera slowly pans up Blade’s body and he’s entirely dressed in leather,” Soonyoung’s in grey sweats and a hoodie, carrying an In-N-Out bag in one hand and his phone in the other, “and you realize he’s the only one on the dancefloor that isn’t covered in blood. And all the vampires that seemed so scary before, they back up because _they’re_ afraid of Blade. That’s when you really get to see his face.”

Soonyoung walks across the front lawn, smiling face coming into the light. “You forgot the part where he steps forward and it, like, vibrates through the club. And then, he smiles. Easily the most endearing smile of all movie history.”

Minghao stares vacantly to disguise the affection bubbling within him. “I’m calling the police. There’s some creep in my front yard talking about how endearing Blade is.”

“But I got you a double-double.”

Minghao lifts open the window and the phone goes dead in his head. Soonyoung brings the coldness in with him, knee on the sill, grin on his face. His fingers curl tight around Minghao’s forearms as he climbs in, secret like the contraction of Minghao’s lower belly.

They eat on the floor with their backs against the frame of Minghao’s bed. Soonyoung holds up a forkful of animal style fries and Minghao drags his teeth slow off the prongs. Soonyoung seems to forget he has one last character reveal to go. Minghao forgets too.

Soonyoung’s eyes linger. “So. You gonna miss it here?”

“No,” Minghao replies, resting his cheek against the edge of his bed. He turns his head to look at Soonyoung who pauses, eyes wide, in the middle of shoveling fries into his mouth. “But I’ll miss Fresno with you in it.”

Soonyoung swallows, hard.

“I’ll miss you too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Between China and America, it’s an easy pick. China is where Minghao wants to be.

He thinks people are lying when they say they like vacationing in America because there’s nothing to see except atomic levels of emptiness and cities way less advanced than the love of Minghao’s life, Shanghai. Shanghai’s got a transportation system that could cleave your heart in twain. In America, you either have a car or get run over by one, and good luck chasing the motherfucker who hit you because they’re peeling out, cutting the wheels, and speeding away _yesterday_.

But America has redeeming qualities. A part of Minghao will always yearn for California. Back home, his friends and family say he’s progressive in all the wrong ways. He’s a particularly successful case of American brainwash. He leaves for America for, what, four years, and suddenly he comes back talking about mental illness and sexuality? Leave that shit in the States, _please._  

In America, he’s misunderstood in a similar way. The kid in AP Lit keeps leaning over to ask him shit about _1984_ like he has firsthand experience. People think he’s some prisoner in a dystopian society, but would a dystopia have someone like Zhang Yixing in it?

Ultimately, Minghao’s accepted he’ll miss something wherever he goes, so he’d just rather be home. In this world, there is no such thing as a perfect place.

Sometimes things come close, though.

 

 

 

 

 

Together, Minghao and Soonyoung make up two-thirds of their graduating class’s East Asian population. The other one-third slides into the backseat of Soonyoung’s car after school, completing the trifecta. 

As per Josh’s rules, he’ll only get in Soonyoung’s car if he plays his mixtape. It’s a Frankenstein’s monster of a mixtape—BIGBANG, 2000's Britney, Usher across time and space.

Minghao complains about it whenever Soonyoung loads it into the player. “You need a theme, not whatever this is.”

“The theme is good music, I don’t know how else to explain this to you.”

They stop at a light. Minghao flips Josh off from over his shoulder.

“Man, what do you know?” Josh says, grabbing Minghao’s finger. “China’s hella dystopian, do you guys even have music?”

Minghao lets out a bark of laughter. He tries to pull his hand back, but Josh holds on tighter. “We only have one singer for the entire country, Dong Wenhua.”

“China’s just keeping the good stuff to herself,” Soonyoung says, cracking open a window. The windows squeak with an ancient pain. “Like Jay Chou.”

“He’s Taiwanese,” Josh and Minghao say simultaneously.

“Teresa Tang?”

“Taiwanese,” Josh says, while Minghao says, “Still Taiwanese.”

Soonyoung purses his mouth. “What about Faye Wong?”

Josh's head pops up above the center console. “Yeah, she’s Chinese. But you only know her from Final Fantasy.”

“You don’t know that. I know all her songs.”

“Name one song from her that isn’t _Eyes on Me._ ”

Soonyoung’s face freezes, and then he’s reaching for the stereo, turning the music way up and drowning out Josh’s laughter in the back.

Josh may be an idiot in the backseat of Soonyoung’s car, but he’s the only one in their class who got early acceptance into UCLA. UCLA-bound since the day he was born, baby, with the Valley Girl accent to prove it. Talks with, like, a rising intonation all the time. He attributes all his success to his mother. Says she’s Old School Korean, a badass who singlehandedly moved them out of their crappy apartment in DTLA and into a two-story in Fresno. You know the deal, a true Drake success story brought to you by your mother. Downside was, as anyone can tell you, the social life in Fresno was temperatures subzero.

At Josh’s house, they study until it gets dark. Soonyoung taps out first and tries to become one with the floor. Minghao’s next. He lays down next to Soonyoung and listens to Josh balance chemistry equations. He’s totally going to use his homework as an answer key tomorrow, but for now he relishes the coolness of the wood floor against his cheek.

“I can’t wait till we’re done,” Josh says while flipping a page in his notebook. “Chemistry can kiss my ass.”

Soonyoung stirs from comatose. He shifts his face where it’s buried within his arms and stares at Minghao, smiling uneasily when Minghao catches him staring. Minghao smiles back but it doesn't feel sincere. They leave not long after that. Even though it’s cold out, Josh still waits for Soonyoung to start the car before heading back inside.

A quietness blankets the car, just like the quiet that blankets the streets. The heater warms Minghao’s chest, but his toes are cold where they curl against the insoles of his shoes. If they’re not talking, then they’re listening to music. They rarely sit in silence like this. In fact—this may be the first time ever.

Minghao isn’t the type to get nervous easily, but he finds himself slipping, because he knows exactly what’s wrong.

Soonyoung finally breaks the silence when they arrive at Minghao’s house. He shifts the gear into park, unlocking the doors. Turns his head. The dim yellow lamp across the street casts a shadow across his face. “See you tomorrow.”

“You too,” Minghao says, tearing his eyes away. He opens the door and slings his backpack over one shoulder. “Goodnight.”

Except things never end that easily. If it were that easy to run from his problems, then that would’ve been that. Problem solved. Except each time Minghao looks away, the problem gets worse. Gains eight more points of articulation until this asshole is on its knees, rising to its feet, to chase after him.

As Minghao walks up the brick path leading to his front door, he hears the hideous squeak of Soonyoung’s window, and then Soonyoung’s calling him back. Minghao grips his backpack strap in a fist. _It could be anything,_ he tells himself as he walks back.

But then the window rolls down completely and Soonyoung’s looking at him, and suddenly time and space packs itself into this single moment. Minghao can see all the shit flying through Soonyoung’s brain. He knows, because Soonyoung is so transparent to him, and because he’s been doing the same shit since the year they met. Weighing the pros and cons of each option until he’s just paralyzed with the fear of doing the wrong thing.

Minghao’s pretty cruel about it. “Did I forget something?”

“No," Soonyoung blinks. "I just think—I think you’re, uhm. An extraordinary person.”

The blood goes to Minghao’s head. Vertigo, a gut punch. He doesn’t blink. Not for this shit. He stares Soonyoung down.

 _Don’t,_ he thinks desperately.  _Don’t say it._

Soonyoung must catch on, because he just—stops and waits, leaving Minghao to pick up where he left off.

“Thank you,” Minghao says softly. “But it’s late. Go home and sleep.”

Soonyoung falls silent. He looks away toward the gearshift and slowly, achingly, places his hand upon it. His voice is so quiet Minghao can barely hear him. “Right. Uhm. Goodnight then.”

Minghao stands by the curb as Soonyoung drives away. His rear lights crest over the hill and wink out in the distance. He stands there for a long while, in the punishing cold.

Something changed the summer of junior year. No matter how much Minghao thinks about it, he can’t figure out just what changed. All he knows is this: he left for three months, and when he came back, Soonyoung was sitting atop a crush so big he could see it from outer space. 

At fucking last. Years of pining made Minghao finally lose his mind and start seeing reciprocation where there was none. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light combined with killer jetlag. Sleeplessness made light cut that much harder, he was processing information three times slower than usual. So maybe Soonyoung was looking a lot more flustered—kind of pensive, actually, when he thought nobody was looking, but of course Minghao was—but it was just a trick of the mind.

Except, one night, Minghao mentioned how cold it was in passing, and Soonyoung nearly dislocated a shoulder shedding his jacket at lightspeed. You know, the kind of thing only kids can pull off when eagerness and sincerity are still cute and not off-putting.

Minghao slipped his arm into Soonyoung’s jacket. The lingering warmth of Soonyoung’s body hugged him.

And Soonyoung,a little shy but still manly as shit, stepped forward and fumbled with the zipper before pulling the tab up, up, up. His eyes followed the zipper path up Minghao’s belly, his solar plexus, his chest, before the zipper ended and his eyes kept going. Dragged up Minghao’s throat, his chin, mouth and nose, and finally resting upon his eyes.

The entire time, Minghao was thinking about how he weighed this love ever since it was conceived. That was more than three years on the scale. He didn’t need to weigh it again to know it wasn’t worth it.

Some things in this world are simply not worth knowing, and so the next week finds Minghao in friendship exile.

Years of going back and forth between the motherland and the States and he still hasn’t perfected the art of sleeping with his eyes open. Ever since the seating chart for AP Lit landed Soonyoung right behind him, Soonyoung’s been kicking the leg of his chair every time his head starts to nod. Suddenly, he stops. Minghao swears he sleeps for a full minute before his head snaps back up.

After class, Soonyoung won’t even look at him for more than a few seconds.

“Want to hang out today?” Minghao asks, counting the seconds internally. Four seconds in and Soonyoung looks away.

He zips up his backpack and gives the floor a little apologetic smile. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m busy.”

Soonyoung’s a shit liar. It’s because he’s never lied to his parents before, never got that practice in.

“Then, tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow too, sorry.”

“Okay,” Minghao says, something like desperation crawling from the pit of him. The non-crazy side of him tells him to drop it. “But I thought you needed help with calculus.”

“I figured it out by myself.”

“Overnight?”

“Look man.” Soonyoung shoulders the staggering weight of his bag, face still turned away. “I just need to be alone, okay? I’ll see you later.”

Minghao doesn’t try to stop him again.

 

 

 

 

 

Years of living in Fresno means Josh really knows how to get down with the white kids.

“So?” Josh says, voice tinny through the phone speaker. “Wanna come? It’s like, in an hour.”

“Will Soonyoung be there?”

“You guys still fighting?”

“We’re not fighting.”

“Yeah, whatever, domestic spat. He’ll probably be there.”

Minghao thinks about Soonyoung walking away from him the other day. They haven’t spoken since, it's been complete radio silence. “Okay, I’ll come.”

“Nice!” Josh says happily. “Make up with Soonyoung. The semester’s ending soon, don’t be dumb.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Minghao mutters. 

Josh doesn’t even bother to hide his doubt. He sees things for what they are and Minghao knows there’s no use in lying to him. “Whatever you say,” he says. “See you in a bit.”

Minghao hangs up and lays in bed, sighing. He wouldn’t call himself a coward. It makes sense to protect himself from things he knows will hurt him in the end. Rather than calling that cowardice, isn’t it just self-preservation? He throws an arm across his eyes and tries not to think of it until it’s time to go.

The house is bumping as Minghao walks up the block. The cold air slices through his hoodie and raises goosebumps along his arms, and when he pushes open the front door, he phases through a wall of heat and humidity. People grind up on each other like their lives depend on it, born conjoined at the groin, party lights flashing red.

There’s no way he’s gonna find Soonyoung here, but dives in anyway. People surge against him, knocking him around, as hands-on a biology lesson he’ll ever get. An ass against his hip, a breast against his arm, somebody turning their head around and flinging sweat onto his neck. Minghao’s anxiety ticks up. The bass thumps through the entire house. It's loud and giant like a heart—it feels like a fucking heart in here, too. Red, wet, and hot. He squeezes through the bodies, resolutely keeping his hands to his sides, grossed out by the amount of people. He didn’t even know this many people went to their school.

The music utilizes pauses; it uses what isn’t there to emphasize what is. Drake’s voice and this 100 bpm, the exact beat of Minghao’s heart. When he sees Soonyoung in the kitchen, his heart stops right as the music does. Picks up a second later when Soonyoung looks out into the crowd and sees him. 

The lighting in the kitchen is normal, not dark and oscillating like the rest of the house. It’s like passing through dimensions, resurfacing after a deep dive.

“Hey,” Minghao says. The lamest fucking line in the world.

Soonyoung swings his legs from where he’s perched on the kitchen island. There’s a can of Coke between his knees. “Hey.”

Soonyoung’s sober, as always. Has that clearness to him as he lifts the Coke from between his knees and takes a long drink, Adam’s apple bobbing along the long line of his throat. Before Minghao came here, he thought Americans had too much freedom and too little respect. He still thinks that way most of the time.

But Soonyoung’s guilt mirrors much of his own. An existence marred by debt, except his guilt is a thousand times worse. He’d rather cut out his own tongue than drink underage. Drugs are out of the question forever. He owes his parents more than he can ever give, so he will give them this. His life on the straight path, not a single step out of line, until the day he walks into his fucking grave.

When Soonyoung told him all about it, Minghao knew he crossed the event horizon. His crush, so harmless before, grew insurmountable when it heard tell of Soonyoung’s unwavering devotion to his parents. His heart came out to meet Soonyoung’s. Easy as that.

"What are you doing here?" Soonyoung says. "You don’t like these things."

“I came because I thought you’d be here.”

Soonyoung stops swinging his feet. He stays unmoving except for his fingers that bend little grooves into the can. “Did you know what I was going to say? Last week outside your house.”

Minghao maintains silence. He’s so used to being right that he doesn’t know what to say when he’s wrong.

“Because it looked like you did. And you didn’t want to hear it.”

Not true—fuck, _true,_ but if it had only come sooner.

Minghao bites his lip. “Let’s go outside.”

Soonyoung makes a face. For a moment, Minghao thinks Soonyoung’s gonna tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. He slides off the countertop and gestures to the hallway. Minghao follows him out, watching the lights change color along the back of Soonyoung’s fragile neck.

They walk outside into the quiet night where cars line the entire street. The houses are monotone blocks in the darkness, the music loud but muted. Soonyoung keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk down the dark street, the cars growing sparser with each step until the music falls away and all there is is the sound of Soonyoung sniffling from the cold.

“If you’re gonna pretend like you don’t know, then I want to at least say it.”

Minghao sees, for the first time, how fucking nervous Soonyoung is. Beneath that, he looks like he’s allergic to Minghao’s bullshit and mere seconds away from going into anaphylactic shock.

“I like you, okay?” he says miserably.

Minghao bites his lip so hard he bleeds.

Soonyoung stops walking. “ _Say_ something, dude. If you don’t like me, just say so. I can take it. Just don’t—don’t walk away. Don’t ignore me.”

He can already predict how it’s gonna go down in the next few months. When he gets on that plane, it’ll be complete and total dual heartbreak. A love like this, fulfilled, doesn’t just go away.

But fuck. Fulfilled, unfulfilled. What difference does it make now? Soonyoung's confessing, he's not gonna let this go. After this, they can't go back to just being friends like before. If ignoring it isn’t a possibility anymore, what's the best option?

Minghao turns around. Unlike Soonyoung, he can lie in his sleep. “I like you too.”

Soonyoung furrows his brow. “Then why—”

“I don’t know.” Yet another lie, but Minghao follows up with the truth. “I was scared, I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you.”

“I mean. Yeah,” Soonyoung says, and flexes his hands the way he does whenever he’s anxious. “I was scared too.”

”And you still confessed?”

”Of course. Something like this... is worth it.” Soonyoung flushes as he says it. The redness of him is the only color for miles in this grey place.

Minghao doesn’t know what things are worth anymore, honestly. All he knows is that he doesn't move when Soonyoung steps up to him, takes his face between his sweating palms, and lays one on him.

In July when across the globe an orthodontist was taking a pair of pliers and breaking the orthodontic adhesive against Soonyoung’s teeth, Minghao was searching up what it felt like to have your braces removed for the first time. People said their teeth felt smooth and shiny like river pebbles, and that their gums were slightly swollen after. 

Minghao gets his due. He licks Soonyoung’s teeth, the back of them, feeling up along his gums until Soonyoung is pulling away, sputtering.

“Sorry,” Minghao says, desperate, following Soonyoung even as he moves away. “I had to know.”

Soonyoung’s just fucking red. He’s hot under Minghao’s hands even when it’s freezing cold out. “Know what?”

They’re already here. No going back, now. “I know the shape of your teeth by sight. All that’s left is touch.”

“Gross,” Soonyoung says, stars in his eyes. “Do it again.”

 

 

 

 

 

The entire month of March is Christmas come again.

Soonyoung gets into all his top schools. He cries because his parents cry. 

Minghao hits a fucking strike for the C9 League. The acceptance letters come in day after day, each a reminder of the time he has left in America, but he’s eternally happy. His family blows up his WeChat with congratulations. But really, the best part is, when Soonyoung holds his face with both hands and kisses him, he feels invincible.

“We did it,” Soonyoung grins.

In celebration of the good news, Josh brings them boba from the faraway land. By the time he returns, the boba is hard and the milk tea lukewarm, but no less sweet.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m tired of these dystopian novels,” Soonyoung groans, nose pressed into his stained copy of _1984_ he’s trying to speedread for the essay. The entire class finished the book two weeks ago, except for him. “Once you’ve read one you’ve read them all. _1984, Brave New World, We, Divergent_.”

Minghao looks over, scandalized. When he sees Soonyoung looking up at him with this pleased little smile, he gets the feeling Soonyoung just got what he wanted. His attention. “I can’t believe you just compared _1984_ to _Divergent_. _1984_ is all about thought surveillance and privacy invasion.”

Soonyoung flips over onto his stomach and puts pen to paper. He writes, _1984 is all about thought surveillance and privacy._ “Literally the same themes in _Divergent_ but sure.”

“And the horrors of creating something unnatural and having to live with the consequences while trying to make things right again. The main characters embark on a journey to find what they lost by pursuing forbidden knowledge, only to find that the answers lead them to a convoluted political conspiracy where the enemy has infiltrated the highest level of government.”

Soonyoung stops writing. Minghao bites back a grin. “That’s the plot of _Fullmetal Alchemist_.”

Minghao laughs as Soonyoung smacks him with the pillow. “So you do read,” he says, grabbing Soonyoung’s wrist.

Soonyoung eyes drop down to Minghao’s mouth. _Subtle._ “I watched it, actually.”

“You can watch _1984_ too. It’s on Netflix.”

“I’d rather do something else, actually.”

Soonyoung is damn loud about it too. It’s a good thing no one’s ever home.

Soonyoung’s parents are always working, have been since the day he could be trusted alone at home. Not many perks in being a latchkey kid. Getting this much privacy out of it isn’t half bad, even though Minghao knows Soonyoung would trade it for the chance to spend even a little more time with his parents.

Afterward, when Minghao pops a mint and Soonyoung openly doesn’t, Minghao asks the sexiest question one can be asked post-orgasm. It’s been weighing on his mind ever since acceptance letters started rolling in.

“Do you feel fulfilled?”

Soonyoung languidly stretches a leg across Minghao’s lap, hands folded together on his stomach. “For now.”

Minghao hums as his hands come down automatically to massage his calve. “You don't seem like the type to be satisfied easily.”

“Yeah, bro. I hear people all the time saying they wanna stay the way they are forever, as teenagers. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to have that privilege. I always wanted to grow up. Imagining that—like, becoming an adult that can keep my parents from working so much. That was the only way I felt like I could, uhm.”

Minghao dips his fingers along Soonyoung’s birdlike ankle. Waits patiently for the words to come to him.

“Redeem my existence or something? But I’ll never be satisfied. I kind of realized a while ago that I’m meant to be unfulfilled.”

Sometimes, Minghao thinks they don’t even need to talk about things like this, because he understands Soonyoung at the deepest level. Beneath all his layers. The fundamental part of him, Minghao just gets.

He knows Soonyoung feels as though he came into this world with an unpayable debt, and that the only way he’ll ever truly be fulfilled is if his parents never came to the States to begin with. The guilt is so powerful it’ll make you want to wipe your own existence from the face of the earth. Soonyoung thinks, no matter what he does, nothing will ever be enough to redeem himself.

“The fact that you feel guilty means a lot, don’t you think?” Minghao asks, applying firm pressure to Soonyoung’s arch with both thumbs. “It sounds like another form of love. You’re a good son. You’d do anything for your parents, and they know that."

Soonyoung looks vacantly up at the ceiling. “Do you think I’ll ever stop feeling so guilty?”

“I don’t know,” Minghao answers truthfully. “You always thought the future was the answer to your problems. Maybe it really is.”

Soonyoung curls his toes. Minghao bends them back until Soonyoung’s hissing, laughing, trying to pull away, but Minghao simply tightens his grip. Locks him in. Soonyoung settles for cramming his other foot beneath the warmth of Minghao’s thigh, wiggling his toes.

 

 

 

 

 

The next two months are a total whirlwind. At night, Minghao’s fingers play the curve of Soonyoung’s spine. In the morning, he can feel Soonyoung looking at his ass as he climbs through his bedroom window.

Everything they’re about to become is right at the horizon. High school graduates, college freshmen. Minghao’s inevitable departure smoking the horizon like a raging wildfire. But before all that, they still have AP exams and prom to face.

AP exams aren’t that big a deal, but still. Minghao’s parents go to the temple asking for good fortune, as they’ve been doing for the past year whenever he has an exam coming up. _Your last year of high school is a big deal,_ they said. _We hope you are successful._ A few days before his first exam, his parents send him a photo of the brightening skyline taken from their local temple. He knows the view as well as he knows himself, remembers it from all the times he hiked up the endless stairs as a child, thinking there could be nothing worth the excursion, but once he got up there, the view always changed his mind. A view like that cleanses even the most burdened of souls.

The grainy image burns itself into Minghao’s eyes and stays on his mind the entire week leading up to testing. He wants to show the view to Soonyoung one day. The moment the desire comes to him, he knows it’s significant, and impossible. He thinks of it as they’re driving around the city at night, windows cranked all the way down as they fly down the backroads. As Soonyoung’s mouth slides against his in the backseat, the heat of his hand branding itself upon his thigh.

“You never told me your last character reveal,” Minghao whispers, stroking Soonyoung's cheek with this thumb.

He feels Soonyoung’s smile against his own mouth. “You know it if you had a Playstation 2.”

“Game consoles are banned in China,” Minghao says, leaning against the door to get a better look at Soonyoung. The car window is cold against the back of his head. "I probably don't know it."

Soonyoung considers this. "You know it. You've seen me play."

"Jak? Jak II?"

"You've never seen me play Jak before."

"Ratchet and Clank? I know for a fact you think Ratchet is attractive."

"You don't know that for a fact," but Soonyoung glances away shiftily. He comes up the space between Minghao's legs. "It's YuRiPa, duh. Do you know a more badass, memorable intro? Beating up guards as Yuna performs _Real Emotion,_ the most iconic of all Final Fantasy songs—”

“Even more iconic than _Eyes on You?_ ” 

“Uh, yeah. Dudes in bralets materialize in the back, and who can beat Paine? She’s way hotter than Squall by, like, a lightyear.”

“Your criteria is bullshit,” Minghao says as he jabs a finger at Soonyoung’s chest. “None of them have anything in common.”

“They’re all flaming hot. I’d leave you for Paine in a heartbeat.”

Yeah, hard to argue with. He’d leave Soonyoung for Paine, too. “Leave, then. I’ll officiate the wedding.”

“Alas,” Soonyoung murmurs, eyes fluttering when Minghao slides his hand around the back of his neck. “I can't marry a video game character."

“Not with that attitude.”

It’s a miracle how they ever get studying done, but AP exams pass without incident and with it, the stress disappears. Minghao breaks free from the testing room and breathes in the fresh air, relishing the sun on his face.

Josh is already waiting for them outside, arm-deep in a family size bag of Hot Cheetos. Minghao can feel the heartburn via osmosis even from across the quad. He offers Minghao some, which he politely declines. He licks Cheeto dust off his fingers and wipes them on Minghao’s jeans.

“I can’t wait to never see you again,” Minghao says.

Josh grins. “Don’t forget about me when you become a bigshot in China.”

“Josh who?”

Josh punches him in the arm, does it again when Minghao repeats, cradling his arm, “Josh who?”

 

 

 

 

 

They don’t make plans to go to prom. In fact, they were both going to skip, when out of nowhere, Soonyoung’s parents become convinced he wants to go but isn’t because of money. Which isn’t _completely_ wrong, but still wrong. They give him the money to go. Even though they don’t have that much to begin with, Soonyoung’s parents tell him they want him to have the same experiences as his classmates. They don’t want him to think for a second that he’s any less than anyone in this town.

Soonyoung sits with his legs crossed on Minghao’s bed, envelop of cash in his lap. “I forgot how much they think about it. They feel guilty they can’t give me certain things, and I feel guilty I made them feel that way.”

Minghao sits beside Soonyoung on the bed, intertwining their fingers. “When you’re taking care of someone, when you love someone, you always want the best for them, and most times it’s more than you can ever reasonably provide. I think… how you and your parents feel is normal.”

Soonyoung lays his head against the crook of Minghao’s neck. “Thanks man.” Squeezes his hand. “I can’t wait to get out of here, then I’ll finally become someone who can provide for my parents.”

You see, right? How Minghao fell for Soonyoung at the speed of light. Dude has some freak ability to keep it together when things are looking bleak. He was just born unafraid of the future—or, at the very least, whatever fear he feels is tempered by a childlike nobility that never went away. Slay the dragon, save the queen and king. A dedication so pure you’d catch fire just from the shine of it.

“You’ll succeed,” Minghao says, hand on the small of Soonyoung’s back. “There is no question.” 

Soonyoung sandwiches Minghao’s hand between his own. “Thank you.”

“So you’re going to prom?"

“Yeah. I don’t want my parents to think I’m missing out on anything, so I’m gonna go for a bit. You don’t have to come with me, I know you don’t want to.” 

“Thanks.” Minghao kisses the top of Soonyoung’s head.

The day of prom, Soonyoung swings by Minghao’s house wearing a rented tuxedo with this gaudy satin blue waistcoat his mom chose. His trousers have multiple breaks, his shoes are unbelievably shiny with rubber soles so thick lightning could strike him pointblank and he’d be fine. Minghao tries not to laugh when Soonyoung walks across the lawn and up to his bedroom window. 

He pulls Soonyoung in by his matching satin tie. “You look good.”

“Really?" Soonyoung looks pleased.

“Mhm.”

Minghao pulls his tie until it’s undone, redoing the knot with a perfect dimple. He refolds Soonyoung’s pocket square while he’s at it. Picks at Soonyoung’s outfit until it’s as good as it’s gonna get and sends him off with a kiss, his salvia shining on Soonyoung’s bottom lip.

The entire time Soonyoung’s at prom, he’s texting Minghao.

 _omg,_ he texts an hour and a half in, _casey from calc threw up_

_what color?_

_yellow u freak_

_stop texting me and dance_

_no way this is my cue to leave bye_

_are you really leaving?_

Radio silence. Minghao gets his answer thirty minutes later when his phone rings and he sees it’s Soonyoung.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says, the distinct sound of G-Dragon howling in the background, “I'm outside.”

Minghao pulls back the curtains and lifts open the window. Soonyoung’s car is parked by the curb, headlights cut as per usual. Even in the dark, Minghao can see the brightness of Soonyoung’s tie.

“Done with prom?”

“Yup. I figured it’d be okay as long as it looks like I got the full experience. I took a bunch of pictures and now I wanna be with you. Come out?”

“Yeah of course,” Minghao says, a grin splitting his face.

He changes into jeans, grabs a jacket and laces up his sneakers, and then he’s out the window, jogging the distance to Soonyoung’s car. When he closes the car door, the first thing Soonyoung does is give him a cupcake wrapped in a napkin, the oil soaking through. The heater warms his cold nose.

“Sorry, it was the best thing there.”

It’s so stupid, but the fact that Soonyoung’s been paying attention to his preferences is touching. He should be doing it anyway, that’s just what makes a good boyfriend—a good anything. But Minghao always thought he was alone in his love, always paying attention but never being paid attention to, that little things like this feel like somebody phasing an arm through his chest.

“Thank you. I’ll eat whatever you give me,” Minghao says, unwrapping it. "Where are we going?"

Soonyoung gets the car going. In the darkness, Minghao can see him blush. "To the beach."

The coast is fifty minutes away, but Soonyoung gets them there in forty. There’s barely anyone on the freeway tonight. Soonyoung drives a steady 80 until they’re all the way to the ocean, the sky beautiful, clear and dark, the long swatch of it kissing the water.

Soonyoung changes into the clothes he keeps in the backseat. Minghao leans against the side of the car and watches him undress. He unbuttons his dress shirt, the tenderness of his body making something in Minghao clench. He leaves his shoes in the car and braves the beach barefoot, unafraid of broken glass.

“Unlike your bitch ass,” Soonyoung says, yelping when Minghao kicks sand at him.

“I hope you get tetanus.” 

“Ha-ha. I got a tetanus shot.”

“Within the past ten years?”

Soonyoung hesitates.

Minghao laughs. “You definitely have tetanus.”

“Oh yeah? I bet it’s contagious.” Soonyoung steps forward.

“It isn’t.” Still, Minghao steps back, stomach fluttering in delight.

“Then why are you moving back? Why are you—why are you _running—_ "

Minghao breaks out in a sprint across the slippery beach, Soonyoung chasing after him. He barely has enough breath to laugh. He doesn’t even make it that far; Soonyoung’s way faster than him, has the lower body strength of a goddamn dream, and catches Minghao quick, grabbing him by the sides of his waist, squeezing out winded laughter. 

“Why are you running, huh? Where are you going?” Soonyoung says breathlessly, butting their heads together.

Minghao shuts him up with his mouth. He grips him tight by the waist as Soonyoung slings his arms over his shoulders, coming in close. It’s hard to kiss when they’re both smiling. Minghao kisses Soonyoung’s teeth. Whatever, he doesn’t care. He does it again.

In a week, he’ll be crossing this very ocean and he’s not sure when he’ll be back.

They roll up their pants and walk into the ocean. Soonyoung tilts his face up to the breeze. The waves hit, pushing the both of them backwards. Just as the waves run up against the boundary of the earth, love runs up against the boundaries of his heart and forces it to expand. Some people you just need to declare your love for, it’s that kind of feeling.

“I love you,” Minghao says, like he’s talking about any ordinary thing. Like, the sky is beautiful. The weather is nice today. Hands cupped around his mouth, I. Love. Kwon Soonyoung!

Soonyoung freezes. He turns around. The waves push against him. “What?”

Minghao smiles, pained. “Yeah. For four years. It felt like every day my heart was turning in on itself just by looking at you.”

Under the half-light of the waxing moon, Soonyoung looks the most hurt Minghao’s ever seen him. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think I had a chance. But then, I knew that if you liked me back, if somehow, I knew what it was like to be with you, I’d never get over you. So I just didn’t want to know.”

The ocean sounds hollow. The wind, too.

“So,” Minghao hears himself say, “I’m never getting over you." 

“Minghao,” Soonyoung says, eyes red, and then he’s pushing through the water, dragging him into a tight hug.

Minghao immediately hugs him back, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing Soonyoung in. They stand there until the water is too cold to bear, heavy with the knowledge that they could’ve had this sooner.

There’s only a week left on the clock.

 

 

 

 

 

You wouldn’t know it just from looks, but Soonyoung’s a crybaby through and through.

He cries throughout the week, even though Minghao isn’t there to see it. His eyes are red and swollen and his face is puffy. In the morning when they part ways, Soonyoung kisses him that much harder. Holds him that much longer.

He loves Soonyoung. Sometimes, he even thinks about coming back to the States for college. But he doesn’t know. There isn’t anyone in this world worth moving countries for, not even a true love.

But then, Soonyoung says something like, “George Orwell is my favorite Spice Girl,” and to the kid in AP Lit who asks him if it’s ok if he stands during the Pledge of Allegiance, won’t you, like, get thrown into Chinese political jail or something, “You’re a waste of earth’s space,” and Minghao thinks, for real, he’ll stay, and indulges a fantasy where he does. 

That’s all it is, though. A fantasy. Like Soonyoung, he knows what he wants.

Soonyoung presses his face into the back of Minghao’s neck. Stays there, unmoving, except for the wetness that turns into a quiet sob. It wakes Minghao up.

“Hey,” Minghao whispers, turning over. 

Soonyoung wipes his face with the back of his hands, but Minghao’s attention must dislodge something in him because he cries even harder, shoulders shaking. Minghao doesn’t know what to do except hold him. He hugs Soonyoung tight, Soonyoung’s hands twisting into the back of his shirt. 

When Soonyoung’s ready, all he can do is kiss Minghao. Long and slow and gentle, like he’s giving up his fucking lifeforce. The wetness of his face slides against Minghao’s cheeks and chin, the taste of him miserable and thick, salty with tears and mucus.

Being kissed so sincerely knifes Minghao to his very soul. He’s convinced he’ll never feel this way about anyone again. That’s the shit nobody tells you about your first love being your true love, because nobody’s _that_ unlucky. It’s a mathematical impossibility. But Minghao can tell you all about it. He can write a brokenhearted opinion piece for _the New Yorker_ because that is the True American Way, and he’ll tell everybody this:

The shit nobody is unlucky enough to tell you about your first love being your true love is that whatever comes next is automatically less.

 

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung cries so much leading up to the day of Minghao’s departure that he doesn’t cry on the day itself. A miracle, really, but it’s probably because his body’s self-preservation instincts kick in and shut off the valves. If he loses any more moisture now, he’ll just die.

They spend the early morning together. Minghao keeps both hands on Soonyoung at all times. When they kiss—both hands. When they make love for the last time, both fucking hands. Slow, too, like they got the time for it. Soonyoung’s hand curls where it’s rested on his shoulder blade, blunt nails scratching into his skin. It jostles something in him. He’s too much of a pussy to cry the way Soonyoung does. He does it surreptitiously while Soonyoung’s asleep, without making a noise, so that when morning comes and Soonyoung drops him off, there’s no way of telling he cried except for a little swollenness beneath the eye.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Soonyoung says, their hands folded together across the door’s window seam.

Minghao doesn’t budge. His brain’s been in hyperdrive since the clock officially marked his last day in America. He’s just trying to remember the view, man. His photos of Soonyoung range in the single digits.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

Soonyoung smiles shyly. “You know you don’t blink sometimes when you stare at me? It’s kind of weird.”

“Can you blame me?” Minghao lowers his head like he’s gonna tell Soonyoung a secret. “My baby, she’s _so_ fine.”

Soonyoung rolls up the window while Minghao tries to press down on the top of the window with both his hands. “Jesus dude,” Soonyoung laughs, high and nervous, the flush crystal clear on his face. “Get out of here.”

Minghao grins and walks away backwards, watching until Soonyoung drives away.

He has breakfast with his host family and they recap the time they’ve spent together. All perfectly pleasant, they’re good people and he can imagine himself calling occasionally. They tell him if he’s ever in the area again, he has a place to stay. Minghao tries not to cry about it.

After that, he spends the rest of the day finishing cleaning and packing. There’s not much left to pack except his clothes, and everything fits neatly in his suitcase. He doesn’t even need to sit on it to get it to close. When at last every surface glimmers and there’s no dust to be seen, Minghao sits in the middle of his empty room beside his suitcase, thinking the emptiness of the room reflects the state of his soul. He knows if he cries, he’s not going to stop, so he just doesn’t want to start.

In the late afternoon, he stops by Josh’s house to say goodbye. They both have flights today, except Josh is coming back from his. He’s going to New York with his mom because she’s always wanted to see the city. Minghao promised to see him off, and now here they are. Sitting on the brick ledge outside Josh’s house. It’ll be a while until he gets to see it again.

They hug for the first time in four years. Josh pats his back hard to make it seem less serious.

“I’m gonna miss you, bro.”

“Me too.”

“Call me, text me. If you ever need something, I’m there.”

“You too.”

Josh laughs to hide his teariness. He pulls back. “You broken or something? Usually you love talking.”

Minghao tries his hardest not to burst into tears for the fourth time today. Suddenly, he remembers all the dumb rules Soonyoung came up with in freshmen year to ensure one’s success as a man, until his dad found it and threatened him with a punishment so severe his ass would no longer be corporeal. Rule number one was, open doors for girls. Rule number two, you can never cry in front of your boys, crying is only permissible in front of your girl. Soonyoung’s dad said no son of theirs was gonna be some elitist sexist jerk disguised as a gentleman. Therefore, he banned Soonyoung from watching British spy movies.

In five years, _Kingsman_ will hit the screen, and Soonyoung will call up Minghao in China and ask him about the filial logistics of breaking his dad’s rule. But that’s in five years time. They still need to breakup first.

Minghao lets himself tear up a little. The sun breaks through the clouds. Reflects off the wetness of Josh’s eyes. “You too,” he says sincerely, as Josh playfully shoves him.

Night comes fast. As per tradition, Minghao buys Soonyoung dinner to thank him for driving him to the airport. A last meal, of sorts.

Minghao’s curfew means Soonyoung rarely gets to park up the driveway. But today, he pulls right up to the garage, headlights bleaching two overlapping circles on the garage door. He pops the trunk. Minghao loads up his only piece of luggage and turns around to wave goodbye to his host family who watch him from the doorway.

Then, they’re off. Soonyoung doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Maybe Minghao absorbed all his tears, except instead of letting it out, he’s stewing in a crockpot of melancholy. Will crying really help? It doesn’t look like it helped Soonyoung.

“So? What’s gonna be your last meal?” Soonyoung asks, the stoplight casting him in red. Green. Minghao wants to kiss him.

“In-N-Out.”

He smiles while keeping his eyes on the road. “Good pick.”

The In-N-Out closest to Minghao’s house used to only be a drive-thru until they made a tiny dine-in section outside beneath the awning. The palm trees grow slanted, tied at the trunk, so the intersecting palm tree leaves cradle the rising moon. Sometimes when the pollution is especially bad and the sunsets burn purple-red, the moon glows a faint red like it does today.

Minghao can’t remember all the times he’s come here with Soonyoung in the late night to marvel at Fresno’s very own lunar eclipse. He only knows that he’s only ever been here with Soonyoung. Whenever he smells a grill like it, whenever he tastes something even remotely similar, it’ll take him back to this time when Soonyoung asks him how many fluid ounces he has in his carry-on. 

“None.”

Soonyoung turns back to the cashier. “And can I get whatever the animal sauce packet equivalent is of 3.4 fluid ounces?”

The cashier gives him a weird look but gives it to him anyway. Soonyoung beams and tips wells, stuffing the packets into Minghao’s jacket pockets. They share a vanilla milkshake. Soonyoung pops the top off and dips in a fry, feeding it to Minghao. He picks out the pickles in his burger and feeds that to Minghao too.

It feels like their situations are reversed; Minghao’s the shy one now. Soonyoung hates pickles but orders his burger with pickles all the time just to give them to Minghao. It’d be easier if he just ordered pickles on the side, but Minghao never tells him that. Maybe he should—but then, he thinks, the next person who gets to be with Soonyoung like this would be touched by the gesture just as he is. So he says nothing and opens his mouth for the last pickle.

Soonyoung sucks pickle juice off his fingers. The wind picks up and blows car exhaust their way. God telling Minghao, _this is neither the time nor place to get horny_.

“Why do you like pickles so much? They’re gross.”

Truth be told, Minghao doesn’t even really like pickles. Americans don’t know how to properly pickle their vegetables. “They’re good, you just have no taste.” Soonyoung opens his mouth but Minghao quickly cuts him off. “ _Except_ for me.”

“I can’t wait to meet your parents one day. I wanna see where you get this cockiness from.”

“Come, then,” Minghao says simply. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Soonyoung’s smile wavers. And that’s when Minghao knows he won’t come to China. Which is fine. Minghao understands. It wouldn’t be good for either of them if he visits.

“One day,” Soonyoung lies, and bites into his burger.

In the car, Minghao dumps all the sauce packets into his backpack and settles in for the last time against the slippery leather seats. Coffee color, perfect for all the weird shit Soonyoung’s spilled on the seats over the years. There’s a rip in the side of the passenger seat where the yellow cushioning peaks out. Minghao presses his thumb against it, trying to smush it back in. 

The closer they get to the airport, the less there is to say. Josh’s mixtape, volume two, plays softly in the background.

Minghao quietly holds Soonyoung’s hand in his lap and watches the emptiness of Fresno turn into the outer city and into the streets leading up to the mouth of the airport. He doesn’t realize he’s tightening his grip until Soonyoung squeezes his hand back. Of course, on any other day there’s enough traffic to back you up to the coast, but on the day he’s leaving, the streets are clear and the terminal comes up quick.

Soonyoung parks by the drop-off curb. Minghao feels the lurch of the car shifting into park like he feels the lurching of his own heart. This is it.

Some things, you just never forget. That's Soonyoung in this car, head framed by the airport street lights, eyes so watery the second he blinks tears pour down his face. He looks beautiful.

“I’m so glad I met you,” he croaks, and then just stops.

Minghao waits for him to continue. When it becomes clear Soonyoung can’t, Minghao simply leans across the center console and kisses him gently. Soonyoung opens up for it so sweetly it brings him to tears.

“Me too,” he whispers right up against Soonyoung’s mouth.

Soonyoung curls a fist into Minghao’s jacket. They hug for as long as they can until the cars behind him start honking and Minghao has to pull away. “Get home safely,” he tells Soonyoung, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Soonyoung's sobbing, now, and Minghao has a flight to catch. "You too," he says, just barely understandable from how hard he's crying.

Minghao can't do anything about it. He presses their hands together, and then he's getting his luggage out of the trunk and standing by the curb. They make eye contact through the tinted window. Soonyoung's crying so hard Minghao thinks he's not gonna make it back home safely, but it doesn't matter, because the car wheels turn anyway. And it's that final sight, see, of Soonyoung driving away, that moves Minghao to tears so big it blurs everything. He wipes them away and waits until Soonyoung is completely gone before walking through the terminal doors. 


End file.
